


I and Me and We and Us (and Them)

by Queer_Queen



Series: The winding road to family (or more like the steep dive off the cliff of sanity) [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Abuse of a Minor, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, F/M, Family Issues, Family orientated, Forcible Adoption, Gen, Kidnapping, POC Child, Realistic, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_Queen/pseuds/Queer_Queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The years following Zoe Lawton's forcible adoption by the Joker and Harley Quinn (A sequel to 'Two Intersecting Paths').</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: Zoe had been taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the first section, enjoy!

Zoe was scared.

Zoe was very _very_ ** _very_** scared.

She sat, trembling in fear, in the cold, dark room _they_ had left her in. Huddled against the furthest wall from the door (as far as possible from _them_ ) she waited, tears streaking down her face, staining the top of her pink nightgown an ugly red and somehow making her colder than she was before. Before, when she had been carried into the bitter ice-cold night, then into the warmth of some kind of vehicle, and back into the cold, into whatever building this was and then left here. In this small room - _cell_ some part of her whispered into her thoughts - where she had immediately scooted away, huddled as far as she could from the dreaded door.

What would happen if it opened?

 _Who_ would open it? 

From the gap of light shown underneath the rusted over door a shadow paced, as it had been doing for the last few hours. Or maybe it had been minutes? Zoe felt as if she were in limbo, time has slowed itself down, she could not remember how long she had been in this cold cold room. How long it had been since she was just a normal student staying up late to do her homework. Had anyone noticed she was gone? Her mind had raced to think of who else was awake at this time, but now her fears were more lethargic, not because she was calm, but because she had been scared so badly (she had looked up at her kidnappers _recognized them_ and then _he_ had said “She looks a bit like a mommy’s little girl, -” and didn’t remember much after that). What if they didn’t? Surely they would notice that she was gone, surely they would … she had a life and friends. They should notice her. Notice the lack of her. … Would she be stuck here for the rest of her life?

( _However long is left of it_ whispered that same, high, childish voice, artfully tugging at Zoe’s most hidden fears and bringing them to light, as it had always done when she doubted her mother or her father or her grades. But in those instances she had been able to _prove_ to her innermost fears that her parents loved her and that she was the top student in her class. But here? She had no way of proving that she would _live_ , and this terrified her.)

A soft sob came from her, before she could stop it, and she quickly clamped her hands over her mouth, but too late. The pacing feet outside the room she was in had stopped. Her breathe caught in her throat as she watched the shadow of the pacer become larger - moving closer - another sob was wracked from her lungs, through her throat and past her hands without her permission. The feet shadowed half the door and for an indescribable amount of time Zoe was once again in limbo, the shadow stayed where it was and Zoe huddled further into herself, the wall providing a now comforting cocoon against her back - before it had felt like the bars of a cage, and now it felt like the solid comfort of her father when he hugged her after their days out, or her mother, when they sat together and read one of Zoe’s assigned literature books together, it felt safe, like home - as she waited.

The doorknob began to turn.

Sobs were wrung anew from her throat, as she stared at the obvious movement in the previously still darkness. Light broke into her space, a small sliver of it, as the door was pulled outward, and then suddenly there was a sharp noise, something that Zoe was too familiar with in her years at a Gotham citizen.

A gunshot. 

The door slammed closed. 

(In the dark of her room Zoe could not see it, but blood was now seeping under the doorway, slowly inching it’s way towards her.)

The shadow covered all but an inch of the light from underneath the door.

And a voice started yelling.

“What the FUCK did I tell you about her?" 

The voice was young, female, and something that Zoe - and any Gotham citizen - could recognize and would never want to meet in anywhere between a dark alley and a grocery store. That was the voice of Harley Quinn, the most feared woman in the city, who had once broken into a once-popular morning television show to beat the two anchors to death _with a bat_ because they had complimented Batman’s takedown of the Joker. The show had continued airing throughout her ‘punishment’. Zoe’s mother had luckily been in the room at the time, and had turned it off as soon as Harley appeared on set and ordered her two goons to hold down the two anchors so she could beat their heads in. Many of Zoe’s classmates had not been so lucky as to have their parents ready to turn the television off, and had to miss school for several days after the event (poor Bradley hadn’t returned, the teachers never had to ask why).

A strange sound met Zoe’s ears, and the shadow covering her door moved, another sound and another movement. It continued to happen until the sound of wood meeting concrete was heard. 

_Oh._

She threw-up quietly, then and there, when she realized the sound she had been hearing was what had happened to the two nice news anchors she used to watch before school. Vomiting was unpleasant, something she had never enjoyed experiencing, but she barely noticed now as she leant over and vomited into the ground in front of her, and continued to retch after last night’s dinner was long gone. 

The dry heaves were loud in the silence that followed the last crack of wood.

Harley Quinn’s voice was louder. 

“Sweetie pie?”

The two words seemed to echo into Zoe’s room, reverberating off the walls and back into her brain. A flash of thought crossed through her mind - who was she calling - before the shadow under her door was pulled away.

She waited and then … footsteps echoed through the door and into her room, slowly getting quieter, until she heard no more.

The silence after that was dreadful. Zoe was tempted to crawl away from her stinking heap of regurgitated food, but not tempted enough to move from her safe spot. She didn't want to get any closer to the door. She couldn’t. She wanted to wake up to discover that this had all been a Horrible, Terrible, Terrifying nightmare. She wanted to wake up to find her mother at the end of her bed, telling her to get ready for school. Hell, she wanted to wake up to her mother’s boyfriend - Flynn - shaking her awake. Anything but this.

Somehow Zoe drifted to sleep. Sitting upright, in a cold cold room, a puddle of vomit next to her, and a slowly encroaching pool of blood across the room.

She dreamt of everything but this.

(Orphanages and foster homes and smiling faces and glaring eyes. Dead mothers in a police morgue and alive mothers in jail. Her teddy bear, held by another, kept in the crook of her arm, or fought for - viciously. A white, blonde woman, skin as pale as her counterpart holding her hand as they signed papers, a white, green haired man smiling down at her as he announced she would be a gift for a ‘special someone’. Zoe - as if seeing herself in the eyes of a crowd, perspective switching every blink, the crowd of invisible people all gathered around her, watching - sat on a chair between her parents, wearing a white dress. Another dream, Zoe sat between The Joker and Harley Quinn, wearing the same white dress - this time it was covered, small etchings, scribbles, several large diamonds and large _gaping_ smiles.

A father who smiled at her from behind bars.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 1,326


	2. I: Harley and Zoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Section 1

She woke up, suddenly. 

She looked straight into the eyes of the infamous Clown King of Crime.

He looked back. 

It was like staring into a vortex. A deep dark pull which swallowed all the light around him, but something shined at the bottom of the pit, something which Harley Quinn had seen and _wanted_ , and something that Zoe wanted no part in. So she didn’t focus. She didn’t try and determine what the spark was, instead she darted her eyes across the marks on his face, which weren’t just tattoos - small scars, stains on the gums of his mouth, the neat brush strokes of makeup on his ghoulish grin - and he made the same inspection of her. Her heart beat so fast she felt it might just stop. Run out of energy from her overuse of it. Then his eyes finished their assessment and he smiled.

She nearly vomited again. But instead swallowed the bile down and watched as he calmly looked over his shoulder and addressed someone Zoe couldn’t see.

He spoke, “Oh Harley dear, she positively stinks, and the vomit and blood really do her no good. Why don’t you go clean her up?”

And then he stood up and walked away. Just like that.

“Sure thing puddin’.” The voice of the other person in the room was high, feminine, and terrifying. But Zoe had gone into some kind of trance, her arms and legs were stiff, she could feel her heart thudding in her chest, her throat, her brain, she couldn’t feel her feet or fingers, and it was as if the room and Zoe herself had been drenched in molasses, time had slowed and so had her thoughts.

Zoe had read about going into shock before (she couldn’t remember where, a school assignment maybe? Or in a story? The newspaper? For some reason the _where_ seemed **_so important_ ** , as if it were crucial to her being to know where she knew this from, as if that piece of knowledge was the only thing holding her to the ground, and if it were to go she would float away like some kind of ghost) and knew the symptoms, and in some part of her brain she knew that that wasn’t happening to her - her heartbeat hadn’t gotten to dangerous low or high levels, and her blood was still firmly inside her body - but she felt that this was what was happening to her. Her brain felt sluggish and her thoughts did too, every breathe was pulled unwillingly out of her lungs, as if her body is breaking down around her - it is so different to read about something rather than experiencing it.

Panic attacks vary in their forms, and this was something that little Zoe had not researched.

 (She had read about shock as part of her research into her father. Circulatory shock was likely something all his victims had experienced. Rapid blood loss leading to the body attempting to stop it by shutting itself down - or at least that’s how she had summarized it. After that night, the night where she stayed up late and learnt about hitmen and guns she had returned to her father, knowing. She was disappointed in herself to say that it had not changed her outlook on him - he was still her father.) 

As he moved away Zoe saw who was standing in the doorway, but after waking to the **Joker** crouched in front of her, looking her up and down, she would take any moment away from him, and anyone else as well. She watched, probably still in shock, as he stopped at Harley and kissed her, and not just a peck, but he swept her into his arms and dipped her, kissing her until they had to stop and breathe. For a moment that stayed like that, staring at each other before he spoke, “We’re parents, pumpkin.”  

The grin that lit up their faces were blinding. 

Haunting. 

And then he skipped away, leaving Harley to turn towards little Zoe Lawton, and smile down at the terrified child.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, suga’.”

The hand that was outstretched was not a friendly one. Zoe did not reach for it. With a huff the woman bent down and _yanked_ Zoe up so that she was pulled into the older woman’s embrace. She was then quickly lifted and placed on her hip, like her mom had used to do when Zoe was smaller (but now she was too heavy for her mom to carry her, and somewhere in her mind Zoe shrank away at the thought of how strong Harley Quinn was, all the while her wrist throbbed in pain). 

Quickly the woman stood and walked from the room, dragging Zoe into the light, she squinted her eyes from the sudden brightness, causing Harley to coo. The hallway was blank, just simple concrete and fading off-white paint, except for the large stain on the ground. Zoe caught a glimpse - well more than a glimpse, she took a long, hard look - of the concrete floor, now stained a dark dark red, as Harley Quinn carried her away from her room. Her cell.

Zoe wanted to go back in.

The tear-jerking, stomach-clenching terror was back, and Zoe shivered with the strength of it. She wanted _out_ she wanted **_away_ ** she …

Her mind went blank when Harley clutched her tighter and whispered, “Awww sweetie, I bet you’re cold. Don’t worry, we’ll get you some nicer things. Stockings, a nice fur coat, and,” here the insane criminal plucked at Zoe’s now tear-stained, sweat-stained and now blood-stained (and oh god, how had that happened? Did _they_ hurt her? Or was it the man’s blood? Did it seep across the floor and onto her? Someone else’s? Oh god she had _blood_ on her.), “maybe a new set of PJs as well?”

There was a pause, where silence seemed to stretch out between the woman and the girl before Harley stopped in the middle of the looming hallway and set Zoe down. Crouching in front of her Zoe was forced to look into Harley Quinn’s mad mad mad eyes.

“Listen, honey, I realize that things have been a little …” here she paused, seeming to search for the right word, “fast, and I realize that because of that you’re going to have a while to _adjust_ ” and here, the previously unnoticeable grip Harley had on Zoe’s wrists strengthened, “but you are not allowed to disrespect us,” Zoe gasped and now only Harley’s hold on her stopped her from collapsing, her wrists burned and she could _feel_ her bones scraping together, “we are your _parents_ and you will treat us that way.” tears came to her eyes, and she looked around, trying to find someone, _anyone_ , to help her, a hand patted harshly - not a slap, but not a tap either - against her cheek “Pay attention when mommy is talking to you.” Her eyes became riveted to the madwoman, “Good girl,” She practically purred, “now, would you like some warm clothes and a new set of PJs?”

 “Y-yes please.”

“Yes please what?”

“Yes please mommy.” The words trembled out of her, shaking through her ribcage and her sternum, after the words left her she felt empty, alone, with only a monster from her worst nightmares waiting in front of her.

The woman blinked, as if shocked, before a wide smile stole across her face, “Awww sweetie,” she cooed as she picked Zoe back up, and rocked her slightly, as one would a baby, “You are just **so** adorable when you’re scared stiff.” And then she moved to walk back down the hallway as if nothing had happened, “Don’t worry about propriety, I realize that adoption and changing family is a **_huge_ ** adjustment for any child, so you don’t have to call me and Jay mommy and daddy yet,” they turned into a large room (The room looked like it had once been an office of some kind, with cubicles and shoddy-lighting, but now it was probably unrecognizable to the past workers. Guns and knives and other weapons littered every surface, and men and women - wearing everything from suits and ties to bikinis and boxers), and Zoe shied away from all the eyes that she could feel against her, perhaps causing Harley Quinn’s happy attitude to suddenly change, again, “DID I GIVE YOU _PERMISSION_ TO EVEN **_LOOK AT HER?_ ** ” She nearly dropped Zoe (she does let go of her), the only reason she didn’t fall into an ungraceful sprawl on the ground was because Harley still had a hand on the back of her neck (a possessive, controlling hand), and pulled out a gun (Zoe hadn’t even realized she had one).

This time she _saw_ as the victim - a woman this time, wearing a tight dress who hadn’t looked away as quickly as the others had - go down, she _saw_ the perfect little circle now engraved in her head, _she saw the bloom of blood now spattered onto the couch she had been on and the people she had sat near_.

One glance at the too-still body and Zoe lost consciousness.

With ringing ears and a stomach full of acid she drifted into the darkness. She hoped that when she woke up she was back in the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Update schedule is going to be weird AF for the next 3 weeks because of uni
> 
> Word Count: 1,545


	3. I: The Joker and Zoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe's next interaction with the Joker ...

 When Zoe woke she wasn’t back in the cell. 

The light was dim, but from what she could see this room was definitely different from the first one (she refused to call them ‘her’ room, ‘her’ cell, even in a week, in a month, she wouldn’t refer to the rooms as hers, in some ways it was a coping method - hotel bedrooms are hotel bedrooms, not your bedrooms - but mostly it was childish denial, pure and simple. For as long as she could pretend she wasn't here, she would). For one thing, she was in a bed - the other room had been devoid of furniture - there was a desk in the corner, with a chair much larger than Zoe, and a small bed-end table to her left. The bed wasn't soft, but she was far warmer than she had been in the cell. 

She shivered in fear. She had been washed. _Someone_ had washed her (if she had been any less groggy her fervent prayers that it had been _Harley Quinn_ to have stripped her naked and bathed her would have been shocking). Her mind flashed to one of her mom’s speeches about ‘inappropriate touching’ and felt strangely sick. Shifting slightly the feeling of her now cleaner skin and her new clothes (flannel pajamas, much warmer than her cool nightie) caused her hair to stand on end. There was nothing _wrong_ with the clothes, but just the thought of someone touching her when she was asleep send shivers into her tummy, making Zoe feel weird (later Zoe would become acquainted with the feeling of disgust, discomfort and revulsion, but this Zoe is young and unconquered by the fears that surround the Joker and Harley Quinn). 

She made to push herself up into a seated position and an unexpected pain stopped her. Her wrists hurt. This time Zoe was more careful to readjust herself and when she was sat up she brought her wrists into view.

In the darkness her eyes strained to pick up exact details, but finally she was what had caused her the pain. Her two small wrists were engulfed in bandages, her mind flashed back to Harley Quinn’s swift anger the day before (the night? Yesterday? Or was it still today?) as she stared down at the obvious samples of the Clown Queen of Crime’s anger. Anger that had been inflicted on her. It was almost like she could hear Gotham Morning’s newscaster _“a young girl  was found murdered under Gotham city bridge, multiples bruises and obvious signs of a beating, the suspected killer is none other than the ”_

 Oh god. 

This was **_real._ **

**_This wasn’t a bad dream._ **

**_This had happened._ **

**_This was happening._ **

Little Zoe Lawton had been kidnapped by the Joker and Harley Quinn, arguably the two most dangerous criminals in Gotham City. She was only thirteen, she didn’t want to die.

Fat tears created tracks as they squirmed their way down her face, glistening as they dripped onto the new pajamas. Zoe wanted to go home. She didn’t want to be here anymore. Zoe wanted to go home and she wanted to go home NOW. She wanted to go back to her mom’s apartment and kiss her as she went to school. She wanted to see her dad beaming away in the crowd while she won spelling-bees and competitions. She wanted to get into fights with her mom about posting letters to her dad. She wanted anything but _this_. Anything at all.

And then the door opened.

(Some cynical part of her whispered; ‘ _well maybe not that._ ’)

There was no preamble, no announcement (not like the special news reports on the latest of the Joker’s many crimes, where they would give a quick introduction to who the Joker was and what his previous most deadly - because there was no way a news bulletin would be able to list all of them - crimes had been. Zoe was almost expecting a small announcement because that’s how she had learnt and how she knew of the Joker; on television never in real life, never in front of her and something she had thought would never happen to her.) the door simply opened and the Joker simply entered the room. Logically Zoe knew that she had encountered the Joker before, that she had _met him_ before, but for some reason those thoughts, those memories, were … hazy. It was like she hadn’t experienced them like it had all been a dream. 

However the Clown Prince of Crime walking calmly into her room carrying a tray clearly attested to this being reality.

From her point in the bed Zoe couldn’t see what was on the tray, although she could imagine it very clearly (knives and scalpels and tweezers all in different sizes all in a single stainless steel colour - Zoe’s mother wasn’t able to stop her daughter from searching up horror movies, even if she wanted to).

“How’s the little princess doing?” The words almost slithered out of his mouth, and they were so unexpected that Zoe flinched at the noise. She blinked up at the Joker, her wide brown eyes staring up at the maniac, causing a sickening grin to stretch across his feautres, “one thing to add to the list; **_manners_ **.”

Zoe’s mind flew back to before, when Harley hurt her because she had been rude, her words tumbled from her mouth, “I’m doing f-fine,” and here she had to take a gulp of air - unnoticed the Joker leaned forward in anticipation, “Da-d-daddy.” The word had lodged in her throat, stuttering it’s refusal to move before it had poured itself out.

The word was met with a hoot of laughter and the thud of a tray on Zoe’s bed. Too unnerved to actually look at the now retreating man Zoe inspected the tray, surprisingly there were no torture devices, only several rectangular objects, covered in aluminium foil and a plastic set of cutlery … it reminded her of airplane food, the kind she got when her grandparents were still alive and her parents were together - they would take a long flight from Gotham to Florida and spend Thanksgiving with them without fail, until her grandfather and then grandmother passed away - her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal grating against wood.

Looking up she saw the Joker was walking back, dragging a metal chair with him which _scraped_ against the floor, which he brought over to the edge of her bed, before plunking himself down in it. 

He chuckled, and his breath seemed to waft over her, “Now princess, show,” and here he smirked at her, “ **_Daddy_ ** your wittle sore wrists,” he cooed at her, before reaching out a demanding hand.

Zoe automatically shrank away from him. 

The noise he made was somewhere between a growl and a snarl and in a flash of movement he had grabbed both her arm closest to him in a punishing grip, his other hand reached over and pulled her face so that she was looking the madman in the eye. 

“When daddy tells you to do something. **You** . **Do** . **_It_ **.”

“Yes daddy.” 

Their eyes were locked for a heartbeat before he let go of her face and arm, looking away from her as he rummaged around in the inside coat pocket of his jacket. Zoe shrinks away from him, leaving her newly injured arm in the open, while she attempts to protect the rest of her limbs from his painful grip.

“Ah ha!” The exclamation is preceded by the flash of stainless steel Zoe had been worrying over before the tray’s contents had been revealed. 

He had drawn a pair of scissors from his coat and now held out a hand clearly waiting for Zoe to set her arm in it. Which she did. With great amounts of trepidation.

The cold blades of the scissors only grazed her skin slightly as the Joker calmly used them to cut off the bandages there, he then switched out the scissors for a flashlight. The colours blooming on her wrists were expected but still shocking, a very clear ring of purple and blue mottling had formed itself like tattoos around her small wrists (small in comparison to the Joker’s, very small in comparison to her father's … the unbidden comparison caused her nerves to go on edge, her dad - not daddy, never again daddy, not after the Joker and Harley Quinn - may not be a good person, but he wasn’t _the Joker_ (he wasn’t a mass murderer, he wasn’t a deranged psychopath, he wasn’t a mob boss, he wasn’t a serial killer, he wasn’t a madman, he wasn’t a maniac). 

“Your bruises are simply beautiful,” he purred as he moved her wrist this way and that, “in fact,” he paused and again rummaged through the inner pockets of his coat, before he pulled out a phone, “hold still while I take a picture” and then he scooted back, pushing the chair with him, leaving Zoe on the bed with one wrist displayed, tears in her eyes and a tray of - probably - food by her blanket-covered feet, “ _Smile_ for the camera!” 

Zoe smiled.

The Joker takes a photo, the flash almost blinding her in the darkness of the room, and then he leaves, mumbling to himself about phone backgrounds and happy family photos. The door slams shut behind him engulfing her in darkness, a hickuppy-sob leaves her throat but she swallows the next one as quickly as possible when the door opens again and he pokes his head in

“The food needs to be gone by the time we come back.”

And then he’s gone, and Zoe is alone, and Zoe is terrified.

She knows one thing though; this can’t continue. Zoe needs to leave. She needs to escape. She needs to go _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah 1,632 words ... #notbad


	4. I: Escape

Zoe’s chance to escape didn’t happen immediately, or at least that had been what she was preparing for.

Except it did.

The night before Harley Quinn had come to her and told her that ‘mommy and daddy will be going on a business trip for a while, so Zoe had better behave herself for her babysitters’. And then she had left, Zoe had immediately began to plan, she started sitting by her door, listening for footsteps and began to draw up what she thought was a good plan. 

A young woman took Zoe out of the room she was kept in three times a day to go to the bathroom - and while she was there her old food tray was taken out, the room was cleaned, and the next meal would be placed on the bed. Unhelpfully Zoe was not given any cutlery, and the bowls were hard plastic, which she had been unable to break (she had attempted to lever the bed off the ground to place the bowl underneath, only to discover the bed was bolted to the floor). Her best chance of escape was the woman because it was clear that she was not allowed to touch Zoe. 

(Zoe did not consider what would happen to the young woman if she did escape. She didn’t even know her name, and yet she would be inflicting pain, torture and death on this unfortunate soul. 

To be kind to her I will not leave her unnamed, her name is Stacey Munroe, she had come from a low-income background and began shuttling drugs at the tender age of fifteen, now she was twenty-seven and had achieved more than any other girl from her neighbourhood before her. She had made enough money to send her family out of the narrows and into Austin, Texas, where her mother now ran a much-celebrated sandwich shop, where she served food from all over North America as well as from most of the other continents. Her brothers and sister were all working, but she had began to put money towards her youngest brother's college expenses. He hoped to be an electrician.

Stacey Munroe is a bad person. However she does not deserve what little Zoe’s actions will do to her. And she does not deserve to be forgotten just because she was the unnamed female guard who let the Joker and Harley Quinn’s daughter escape.)

So she began to plan, and finally, three days after Harley’s announcement of the business trip Zoe was ready.

She waited on her bed, as she had done most other days, for the door to open and for the guard to come in, then she shuffled off the bed and walked towards the guard, just as she had done every other day. Walking in front of the guard Zoe counted doorways. 

She glanced sideways and silently watched as they passed the doorway which led to the corridor which led outside. But she kept walking.

When she was two away from the right one she slowed down her left foot, just enough for her toe to catch on the uneven floor, and allowed her body to pitch forward. 

(This caused a small crisis in Stacey, because she knew that she was not allowed to touch the girl but she also knew she was likely to be skinned alive if the girl got a skinned knee).

Predictably, the guard stepped forward and began to kneel down, and Zoe took a breath before scrambling around the guard and bolting for the exit.

Curses rang out, but Zoe was already through the corridor and heading for the exit, she shoved open the door and immediately ran parallel to the building, looking for the first turn - if the guard couldn’t see her then they wouldn’t know which direction to go in - and sprinted for it, racing around the corner and hurtling on.

She ran for what felt like hours, until she was finally too exhausted to continue her winding run through what appeared to be a warehouse district, and moved into an alley, ducking behind a bin to catch her breath.

Tears stung her eyes and her breath shook through the air, as she shoved herself into a gap between the bins and the wall. Too slowly for her liking Zoe’s breath calmed, leaving her to sit quietly in the alley until Batman came for her.  Because that’s what Batman did, he rescued people and saved little girls and protected hostages, and Zoe was definitely in need of all three services. 

(Zoe didn’t even consider that she wasn’t on Batman’s list of ‘things to do’ for the night, she assumed that Batman would know that a little girl who had disappeared from the Gotham system was not a runaway, but a kidnap victim, and not a kidnap victim to human traffickers, but to the Royal Clowns of Crime.)

So she sat, in only thin pajamas, in the cold, cold alley, and waited for Batman to find her. After a while her teeth began to make noises no matter how hard she tried to stop them and her lips felt chapped and the cold seemed to have seeped into her bones, but Zoe still waited.

...

Not-so far away Stacey Munroe lay dead on the headquarters floor, and Harley screamed at her and Jay’s minions to go find her little girl.

The searches intensified with the Joker and Harley taking different routes, attempting to track where a young girl would run to - Harley took a non-descript car into town, and the Joker stayed behind to search the district.

They did not search because of any profound fondness for Zoe, but in the same way a owner would search for a prized possession which had been stolen from them.

Meanwhile Zoe had drifted to sleep in her small corner, the beginnings of hypothermia creeping up on her little body.

The Joker stalked the alleys, searching for his daughter, moving closer and closer to his prize. He was about to pass another small alley between to large warehouses before he paused and crouched to consider the ground … the scuff mark was far too small to belong to any of his men.  Calmly he smiled, the horrifying grin splitting his features and taking away any notion of happiness for those who looked, and moved down the alley, knowing that his prey had been caught. 

He stopped at a group of bins and allowed his head to tilt as he considered the bright spot of pink hidden between the bins, asleep and shivering in the cold. Surely it would be easier to just leave her here to die, to start anew with some other orphan?

The little pink thing - although her lips had began to crack and her skin was not the same shade of brown and her locks’ appeared to be more brittle in the cold, so while her clothes were pink she was hardly a healthy colour - shivered and curled in on herself.

He blinked down at her before crouching and placing a hand on her leg, and then leaned in, till his face was the only thing she would see when she woke up, and then slowly and deliberately increased the pressure of his grip - another bruise she could add to her growing collection.

She woke with a pained gasp, her eyes looking at him, dull at first, before a spark of terror appeared.

...

“Well, well, well … what do we have here?” That voice … no, please no,  _ please  _ **_please_ ** **_please no_ ** .

Zoe stared up at the Joker, now shaking from both the cold and her terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops a cliffhanger


	5. I: Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of five DONE!!!

Hilda watched in what appeared to be boredom as the henchmen and women - the minions - scurried around her, searching for the Joker and Harley Quinn’s latest toy. Of course, Hilda was not actually watching, she stood guard at the headquarter’s doorway, her job was to monitor who entered and who exited, to ensure that everyone was accounted for (this was one method criminals used to ensure the Batman had not found them, the Bat’s methods typically included knocking out henchmen until the main few were left to fight him by themselves, by having someone ensure that no one - or at least not a vast majority of people - disappeared they were safeguarding themselves against the Bat’s wrath). And she was not bored, for from it, her emotions were a turmoil between disgust and the embers of a deep-seated rage, heating her and forcing her to keep a straight face as criminals scurried around her. 

Dispassionately she noted that the Joker’s latest butler was noting areas searched and sending teams to go check and recheck other areas.  Hilda’s original goal had been to take that position, but two things had stood in her way, the first being her gender and sexuality, Harley Quinn was notoriously jealous of other women - rivaling the Joker - and if Hilda, who had climbed he ranks as a prostitute before this, were to take a position so close to the Joker, well … her brains would paint the walls.

The second reason was that one little screw-up would result in her brains being beaten into the floor. 

Idly she noted the butler’s lightly sweat drenched collar, even in the cold that had begun to take Gotham’s streets and considered going for the position when it became open.

Silence stretched through the courtyard that had previously been full of the sound of feet and quiet voices, Hilda turned her head so that peripherally she could see who - well there was no doubt who it  _ was _ , only the Joker could inspire such silence, but there was a question of whom he was with or  _ without _ as the case may be - had come, and watched as minions scuttled out of the way. 

The parting sea of minions clearly held no interest for the Joker, in his arms was the toy, and his gaze was riveted on the little girl’s face. 

Having lived and worked on the streets Hilda recognized the tell-tale ashen layer over what had been previously healthy, brown skin. Overall this didn’t surprise her, however the pure and unadulterated interest sparking in the Joker’s body language did interest her. She knew - just as any minion in headquarters did - that the Joker and Harley Quinn had decided to … play house, as it were. The ember at the base of her heart (and her sternum, her spine, her hips, her very  _ bones  _ and  **_blood_ ** ) had burned slightly brighter when she had learnt that an innocent girl had been captured for one of her bosses’ games, but she had quelled it, knowing that she could do nothing good, but in the long run … in the long run she would make a difference. But she had not thought that their games would last past the first escape attempt.

She subtly watched in hidden apprehension as the Joker slowed to a stop and stared down at the the trembling face. 

“I need a coat.”

The words caused many a shiver to fall down the backs of the congregated men and women, immediately dozens of coats were offered, including Hilda’s, and the Joker leisurely moved to a shaking man before stopping and turning back in her direction. She could see that his eyes were scraping over her bare shoulders and delicately trembling form, and she was unsurprised that he reached forward to snag her down jacket from her hands, quick to wrap the little girl in it. 

His eyes carved over her again, before turning to his butler, “Take her name down,” he nodded his head in Hilda’s direction, “for the  **_uh_ ** ,  **project.** ” He stepped towards the door, before looking back over his shoulder, “And call Harls’.” And then he slammed the door. 

Dismissing them.

Quickly the yard was drenched in activity as men and women went in search of those who were searching and people took other entrances to go back into the base. Hilda’s thoughts were left spinning, project? What project?

“What’s your name then?” The butler had come up to her while she was considering what the project was, she grinned at him, shark-like.

“Heidi.”

He didn’t comment on her lack of last name, so many runaways and prostitutes went by pseudonyms, even her cover-identity held the name Sarah Angelo instead of Heidi. This nifty little detail allowed her to avoid some suspicion when she began and it still helped her now, but more importantly it ensured that her identity remained a secret. 

…

Zoe didn’t remember much after waking - again - to the Joker staring down at her. She remembered warmth and softness, she remembered warm soup and a cold hand on her face, but she didn’t remember voices or words. Only vaguely did she realize time passed, but as her illness progressed and got better she began to count days and activities.

(“Harley, dear, we were expecting this from the beginning, all children have a need to leave the nest.”

“But honey we’ve barely trained her!”

“Which is why we are going to get a nicer, stronger nest. One that is isolated, with better guards.”

“Oh puddin’! You’re brilliant.”

And she remembered conversations said around her.

"But puddin', one thing I won't stand for is a mortgage. We are _buying_ a -")

The illness had nearly run it’s course when she had her first ‘family meeting’ with the Joker and Harley Quinn.

She had been ordered not to leave the bed and therefore sat up, sheets and a thick duvet covering her legs, while the Clown Couple of Crime sat on a two-person chair which they had ordered people to bring in.

This was where she had learned that she was going to be ‘disciplined’, to ensure that no further escape attempts would happen (the very announcement of a punishment had nearly caused Zoe to bolt from the room - the grins from the couple sitting near her had showed her that they knew and were hoping for it, this immediately thwarted many of the plans).

Zoe had been expecting many things, many horrible awful things she had read about in history class and her expectations began to pile up; thumbscrews, whipping, spanking, more bruises, less food, anger, she had not expected what appeared to be a small cupboard.

Harley Quinn was with her, “Now sweetheart,” her hands pushed her towards the cupboard, which was nearly a foot shorter than she was - if she went in that she would have to curl up - “we’ve decided that for every transgression you’ll be put in the box,” and then her voice turned wicked, “but since this is your first we’ve decided to mirror the time you were missing, give or take several hours.”

As Zoe was moved closer to the hole she felt the sting of tears and realized she was terrified, “Please ...” she whispered, harshly she was spun around, to face the Clown Queen of Crime.

“Please what?” the grown woman cooed at her “Sweetheart.”

“Mo-mo-mommy, please don’t put me in the b-b-b-box. Ple-” she hiccuped, “please.”

A look of satisfaction crossed over the woman’s face, “No sweetheart,” and then Zoe was pushed into the box, gently folded in by the woman’s surprisingly strong grip, “But,” the wild light in Harley’s eyes was back, “if you behave very very well I’ll let you out early!”

As the door began to close Zoe was nearly tempted to reach out and stop it, but the image of her tiny little fingers slamming between the door and the frame kept her there.

The door closed, plunging Zoe into darkness. 

The last noise she heard was; “See you in twelve hours!”

And then silence, complete and utter silence.

…

Young Zoe Lawton experienced waves of emotions, the first set being fear (she was alone and the walls were closing in and there was no light and there were no people and she was so scared why why why), the second set being desperation (please mommy i’m hungry please let me out please i promise i’ll be good please mommy i’m scared i want to be let out there is no light please), the third being anger (let me out let me out let me out let me out let me out), then many more. 

When the door creaked open, eight hours later, Zoe wasn’t met with a blinding light, because someone had turned off the lights of the room the box was in. Gloved hands guided her face and tilted it this way and then, Zoe whispered to the hand’s owner (please im so hungry please its so dark please the walls are moving let me out) but they didn’t reply, and eventually she was forced back into the box.

(“She’s still cooking?” Harley giggled as her lover closed the box and kissed her on the cheek, snapping off the weak latex gloves as he did so.

“I’d give it another four hours before she stops speaking.”

“Four hours huh?” she whispered into his ear, “I bet we can do a lot in four hours.”)

…

The doors opened and no light came through, the same gloved hands reached out to grasp her chin, and she was leaned this way and that. She did not speak.

The hands pulled her out of the box, grasping her and pulling her up to carry when she stumbled, Zoe was rocked slightly as she leaned into the side of the gloves and inhaled the smell of explosives and hair dye.

And there the Joker stood, rocking his new daughter on his hip, waiting for Zoe to fall asleep.


	6. Me: Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/5 begins

Zoe was and wasn’t asleep, she was relaxed and happy, but she noticed when the warmth tried to move away. The beautiful warmth that Zoe had missed when she had been  _ there _ . Zoe gripped the warmth shirt in her fist, trying to keep it there.

A noise (a chuckle) escaped from the warmth before it pulled away completely.

Zoe stayed silent, but she could feel her cheeks begin to get wet. But she stayed silent. She knew she had to stay silent.

Another noise, similar to the first but from a different source was emitted, and then Zoe was pulled up from her spot on the cold into warmth again. Zoe held on tight, hoping that this different warmth wouldn’t escape her like the last one did.

(Something whispered to Zoe that these two heated frames were  _ wrong _ , she should be grasping for different fabric and different flesh. The  _ loving-lavender-small _ and the  _ happy-smoke-large _ , the two which had occupied Zoe’s thoughts mere days ago, the ones who had occupied Zoe’s dreams mere nights ago.  _ They _ were the right ones, and all Zoe needed to do was wait because  _ they _ would come for her and then Zoe would be safe and loved and away from the bad ones.

In response to the whispers Zoe burrowed her face into the frame holding her.)

She is (they are) moving now, steadily moving to another spot, Zoe is only jostled slightly, and her legs hang down away from the warm, but she is content. She is happy.

(She is terrffied and content and angry and lonely and warm and scared and she misses everything and nothing at all.)

…

Zoe was compliant both times Harley fed her - so very clearly out of it, maybe next time she and Mister Jay could get some quality cuddle time with their baby - and overall acted like a big baby. 

Harley loved it.

Now she is watching the tv - Bugs Bunny was probably her favourite character in all time ever - with little Zoe curled up next to her, head in Harley’s lap and arms wrapped possessively around her left thigh. She tilted her head and inspected her new child, whose face was screwed up in a expression mixed between fear and happiness. Apart from the issue of the obvious physical differences between her and Mister Jay and little Zoe - in the very beginning Harley had hoped to get rid of this one as soon as possible so she could go find a better child, but now Zoe was growing on her - well … Harley could really picture them as a family. Zoe may not have Harley’s hair - she really needed to research how to take care of natural hair - or Mister Jay’s smile - and she would have to find a dentist as well because she knew that children lost teeth but what was she supposed to do about braces??? - or Jay’s chin but …

The primal part of Harley Quinn could recognize that little Zoe was changing (breaking), and that she was breaking in a similar way to how Harley herself changed, and wouldn’t that be a better trait than any physical one? Harley Quinn and the Joker did not fit in the outside world, were not ‘fit to live in society’ so didn’t it make sense that they would  _ make _ their own domesticity so very opposite from what society’s label of domesticity was? (One of which was that children  _ looked  _ like their parents.)

At that moment Zoe hugged Harley’s leg closer to her little chest, burrowing her face onto the leg her head was pillowed on. Harley smiled and then returned to watching tv, stroking Zoe’s head as she did.

…

Several days later - or maybe more, only now was Zoe regaining her sense of time - Zoe is ushered out of the headquarters (it’s the middle of the night and the cold only runs across her cheeks, Joker had tucked her into a warm jacket, jeans and a red and purple beanie) and into a waiting van (blacked out windows, surprisingly mundane paint job, purple and green leather seats). She, Harley and Joker sit together in the back, the division between them and the driver drawn, Joker sitting happily between ‘his girls’.

Zoe doesn’t know where they’re going. As she was taken outside she had seen a large truck, which minions had been scurrying around, but she Harley and Joker hadn’t said anything about the trip, no warning or preamble.

But as Zoe leans against Joker’s arm she reflects that it doesn’t really matter if she knows what’s going on or not.

“Tired honey?” Joker is looking down at her, a fond (well most would not use  _ fond _ , but to Zoe it is) expression on his face.

From his other side Harley makes a coo-ing noise.

Zoe nods and yawns, Joker’s face splits into a grin and he picks up the jacket Zoe had discarded (“Cleaning is for minions”, Harley had once told her while Joker was nodding along sagely as he texted someone) on the floor - it had become far too hot - and folded it into a pillow, placing it on his leg.

He guides her head down so she is lying on the comfortable make-shift pillow, “Sleep tight kitten.”

And then she sleeps.

…

Zoe wakes as the car begins to shudder and jolt, she doesn’t open her eyes at first - no longer is she so familiar with the light, her senses still attuned to what it is like to be in the dreaded dark - and instead languishes in her comfortable position. She remembers falling asleep, and knows that the warm mass she is lying on is Joker’s thigh, and she thinks that the heavy warmth resting on her side is his arm. There are no voices, not from Joker, Harley or the goons in the front, the only sounds come from a radio station playing quietly in the front, and from the idle tapping of fingers against a smartphone.

Another, particularly harsh bump, helps Zoe to get up, sliding so that instead of lying on Joker’s thigh she is cushioned against his side. Zoe looks up just in time to see an amused smile spread across his face - still focused on his phone - before the arm curls more tightly around her.

The window doesn’t show much, it is night and what little light from the headlamps illuminates an old road.

She doesn’t know where they’re going.

Zoe tries not to, but in the end she goes back to sleep.

…

Joker hums and takes a picture of her, making it his new burner phone’s background. The old one had been destroyed in an altercation with Batsy a week ago.

On his left Harley snuffles before going back to sleep.

He grins down at his right hand side, where little Zoe  _ Lawton _ lies … he had met Deadshot before. He wonders how the proud man will react if he were to meet his new daughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to have 5 parts to this story, with (hopefully) five chapters in each 'section', all over 1,000 words. #BraveEndeavour


End file.
